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Sometimes I like to pretend I'm being stalked.

It's my own interpretation of paranoia, I guess. I also try to look at my reflection from the corners of my eyes to make sure it's doing the exact opposite of what I do.

When I was little, I tried to catch my toys on moving on their own while I wasn't around and I fantasised about how some country was missing me as their heir to the throne, for it was very clear to me from an early age I was obviously royalty tucked away in hiding untill I was old enough to be a king.

I think I'm too old now to be picked up by a limo to ascend some throne and the only moving my collectable dragons do is falling off hights and breaking after a friendly push of my pet rats. My reflection is only incredibly intrigueing when I've been drinking too much.

But my imaginary stalker, well, he or she is still there, thinking I'm the pinacle of human perfection, watching me and taking great interest in all I do.

Paranoia is underrated. Like most mental diseases I bet I could make it work for me.